Poems List

Parting Address From Z.Z. To A.E.

Parting Address From Z.Z. To A.E.

O weep not, love! each tear that springs
In those dear eyes of thine,
To me a keener suffering brings
Than if they flowed from mine.
And do not droop! however drear

The fate awaiting thee.
For my sake, combat pain and care,
And cherish life for me!


I do not fear thy love will fail,
Thy faith is true I know;
But O! my love! thy strength is frail
For such a life of woe.

Were't not for this, I well could trace
(Though banished long from thee)
Life's rugged path, and boldly face
The storms that threaten me.

Fear not for me I've
steeled my mind
Sorrow and strife to greet,
Joy with my love I leave behind,
Care with my friends I meet.

A mother's sad reproachful eye,
A father's scowling brow But
he may frown, and she may sigh;
I will not break my vow!

I love my mother, I revere
My sire, but doubt not me.
Believe that Death alone can tear
This faithful heart from thee.

Zerona
67

Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace

Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace

Why should such gloomy silence reign;
And why is all the house so drear,
When neither danger, sickness, pain,
Nor death, nor want have entered here?
We are as many as we were
That other night, when all were gay,
And full of hope, and free from care;
Yet, is there something gone away.


The moon without as pure and calm
Is shining as that night she shone;
but now, to us she brings no balm,
For something from our hearts is gone.


Something whose absence leaves a void,
A cheerless want in every heart.
Each feels the bliss of all destroyed
And mourns the change but
each apart.


The fire is burning in the grate
As redly as it used to burn,
But still the hearth is desolate
Till Mirth and Love with Peace return.


'Twas Peace that flowed from heart to heart
With looks and smiles that spoke of Heaven,
And gave us language to impart
The blissful thoughts itself had given.


Sweet child of Heaven, and joy of earth!
O, when will Man thy value learn?
We rudely drove thee from our hearth,
And vainly sigh for thy return.
3

My God! O let me call Thee mine!

My God! O let me call Thee mine!

My God! O let me call Thee mine!
Weak wretched sinner though I be,
My trembling soul would fain be Thine,
My feeble faith still clings to Thee,

My feeble faith still clings to Thee.
Not only for the past I grieve,
The future fills me with dismay;
Unless Thou hasten to relieve,
I know my heart will fall away,

I know my heart will fall away.

I cannot say my faith is strong,
I dare not hope my love is great;
But strength and love to Thee belong,
O, do not leave me desolate!


O, do not leave me desolate!

I know I owe my all to Thee,
O, take this heart I cannot give.
Do Thou my Strength my Saviour be;
And make me to Thy glory live!


And make me to Thy glory live!
83

Lines Written at Thorp Green

Lines Written at Thorp Green

That summer sun, whose genial glow
Now cheers my drooping spirit so
Must cold and distant be,
And only light our northern clime
With feeble ray, before the time
I long so much to see.
And this soft whispering breeze that now
So gently cools my fevered brow,
This too, alas, must turn To
a wild blast whose icy dart
Pierces and chills me to the heart,
Before I cease to mourn.


And these bright flowers I love so well,
Verbena, rose and sweet bluebell,
Must droop and die away.
Those thick green leaves with all their shade
And rustling music, they must fade
And every one decay.


But if the sunny summer time
And woods and meadows in their prime
Are sweet to them that roam Far
sweeter is the winter bare
With long dark nights and landscapes drear
To them that are at Home!
81

Memory

Memory


Brightly the sun of summer shone,
Green fields and waving woods upon,

And soft winds wandered by;
Above, a sky of purest blue,
Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue,

Allured the gazer's eye.
But what were all these charms to me,
When one sweet breath of memory

Came gently wafting by?
I closed my eyes against the day,
And called my willing soul away,

From earth, and air, and sky;

That I might simply fancy there
One little flower a
primrose fair,

Just opening into sight;
As in the days of infancy,
An opening primrose seemed to me

A source of strange delight.

Sweet Memory! ever smile on me;
Nature's chief beauties spring from thee,

Oh, still thy tribute bring!
Still make the golden crocus shine
Among the flowers the most divine,

The glory of the spring.

Still in the wallflower's
fragrance dwell;
And hover round the slight blue bell,

My childhood's darling flower.
Smile on the little daisy still,
The buttercup's bright goblet fill

With all thy former power.

For ever hang thy dreamy spell
Round mountain star and heather bell,


And do not pass away
From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow,
And whisper when the wild winds blow,

Or rippling waters play.

Is childhood, then, so all divine?
Or Memory, is the glory thine,

That haloes thus the past?
Not all divine; its pangs of grief,
(Although, perchance, their stay be brief,)

Are bitter while they last.

Nor is the glory all thine own,
For on our earliest joys alone
That holy light is cast.
With such a ray, no spell of thine


Can make our later pleasures shine,
Though long ago they passed.
Acton
99

In Memory of a Happy Day in February

In Memory of a Happy Day in February

Blessed be Thou for all the joy
My soul has felt today!
O let its memory stay with me
And never pass away!
I was alone, for those I loved
Were far away from me,
The sun shone on the withered grass,
The wind blew fresh and free.

Was it the smile of early spring
That made my bosom glow?
'Twas sweet, but neither sun nor wind
Could raise my spirit so.

Was it some feeling of delight,
All vague and undefined?
No, 'twas a rapture deep and strong,
Expanding in the mind!

Was it a sanguine view of life
And all its transient blissA
hope of bright prosperity?
O no, it was not this!

It was a glimpse of truth divine
Unto my spirit given
Illumined by a ray of light
That shone direct from heaven!

I felt there was a God on high
By whom all things were made.
I saw His wisdom and his power
In all his works displayed.

But most throughout the moral world
I saw his glory shine;
I saw His wisdom infinite,
His mercy all divine.

Deep secrets of his providence
In darkness long concealed
Were brought to my delighted eyes
And graciously revealed.

But while I wondered and adored
His wisdom so divine,
I did not tremble at his power,
I felt that God was mine.

I knew that my Redeemer lived,
I did not fear to die;
Full sure that I should rise again



To immortality.

I longed to view that bliss divine
Which eye hath never seen,
To see the glories of his face
Without the veil between.
80

Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day

Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day

My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves, beneath them, are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.


I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!


Acton
390

Home

Home


How brightly glistening in the sun
The woodland ivy plays!

While yonder beeches from their barks
Reflect his silver rays.

That sun surveys a lovely scene
From softly smiling skies;

And wildly through unnumbered trees
The wind of winter sighs:

Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,
And now in distance dies.

But give me back my barren hills
Where colder breezes rise;

Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees
Can yield an answering swell,

But where a wilderness of heath
Returns the sound as well.

For yonder garden, fair and wide,
With groves of evergreen,

Long winding walks, and borders trim,
And velvet lawns between;

Restore to me that little spot,
With grey walls compassed round,

Where knotted grass neglected lies,
And weeds usurp the ground.

Though all around this mansion high
Invites the foot to roam,

And though its halls are fair within Oh,
give me back my HOME!

Acton
73

Fragment

Fragment


Yes I will take a cheerful tone
And feign to share their heartless glee,
But I would rather weep alone
Than laugh amid their revelry.
73

Despondency

Despondency


I have gone backward in the work,
The labour has not sped,
Drowsy and dark my spirit lies,

Heavy and dull as lead.
How can I rouse my sinking soul
From such a lethargy?


How can I break these iron chains,
And set my spirit free?

There have been times when I have mourned,
In anguish o'er the past;
And raised my suppliant hands on high,
While tears fell thick and fast,

And prayed to have my sins forgiven
With such a fervent zeal,
An earnest grief a
strong desire
That now I cannot feel!

And vowed to trample on my sins,
And called on Heaven to aid
My spirit in her firm resolves
And hear the vows I made.

And I have felt so full of love,
So strong in spirit then,
As if my heart would never cool
Or wander back again.

And yet, alas! how many times
My feet have gone astray,
How oft have I forgot my God,
How greatly fallen away!

My sins increase, my love grows cold,
And Hope within me dies,
And Faith itself is wavering now,
O how shall I arise!

I cannot weep but I can pray,
Then let me not despair;
Lord Jesus, save me lest I die,
And hear a wretch's prayer.
68

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Identification and basic context

Anne Brontë, also known by her pseudonym Acton Bell, was an English novelist and poet. She was the youngest of the Brontë siblings. Her family background was that of a clergyman's daughter in the early 19th century, a period of significant social and economic change. She was English and wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Born into a literary family, Anne's early life was shaped by her father's clerical duties and the remote parsonage at Haworth. She received a basic education at home and later attended Roe Head school with her sisters, though she did not stay long. She also served as a governess for a time. Early influences likely included religious teachings and the literary works her family read and discussed.

Literary trajectory

Anne Brontë began writing poetry early in life, a common practice among the Brontë siblings. Her literary career as a novelist began later, with the publication of 'Agnes Grey' in 1847, followed by 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall' in 1848. These works, published under the pseudonym Acton Bell, were part of a joint publication with her sisters' novels.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Anne Brontë's major works include "Agnes Grey" (1847) and "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" (1848). Her dominant themes revolved around the plight of governesses, the hypocrisy of society, marital abuse, alcoholism, and the struggle for female independence and moral integrity. Her style is characterized by its realism, directness, and moral earnestness, often presenting a stark contrast to the more romantic or Gothic elements found in her sisters' works. She was a pioneer in depicting the harsh realities faced by women in Victorian society, particularly in domestic and professional spheres. Her poetic voice is often clear, reasoned, and passionate about social justice.

Cultural and historical context

Anne Brontë lived during the Victorian era, a time of strict social conventions, particularly for women. As a woman, her professional options were limited, with governess positions being one of the few respectable avenues. The novel "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" was controversial for its frank depiction of marital degradation and alcoholism, reflecting contemporary social issues and moral debates. She belonged to a generation of writers grappling with the changes brought about by industrialization and a growing awareness of social inequalities.

Personal life

Anne's personal life was marked by the close bonds with her sisters and father, and the tragic early deaths of her siblings. Her experiences as a governess likely informed "Agnes Grey." While not as publicly engaged as some contemporaries, her deep moral convictions and her passionate defense of her second novel suggest a strong personal will and commitment to her artistic vision.

Recognition and reception

Initially, Anne Brontë's novels, particularly "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall," faced criticism for their perceived coarseness and controversial subject matter. However, their literary merit and unflinching honesty have been increasingly recognized over time. "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" is now considered a groundbreaking work of feminist literature and a powerful social commentary.

Influences and legacy

While direct influences are debated, Anne Brontë's writing shares a lineage with the realism of earlier novelists and her sisters' literary explorations. She, in turn, influenced subsequent generations of writers interested in social realism and feminist themes. Her legacy lies in her courageous depiction of female agency and her unflinching examination of social injustices, contributing significantly to the development of the novel as a vehicle for social critique.

Interpretation and critical analysis

"The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" has been interpreted as an early feminist text for its portrayal of a woman seeking escape from an abusive marriage and asserting her independence. Critics have analyzed its social realism, its psychological depth, and its theological undertones regarding redemption and personal responsibility.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Unlike her sisters Charlotte and Emily, Anne's temperament was often described as more reserved and outwardly conventional, yet her writing demonstrated a fierce independence of thought and a clear moral vision. Her dedication to her second novel, even after facing criticism, highlights a strong inner conviction.

Death and memory

Anne Brontë died at the age of 29, likely from tuberculosis, a disease that claimed many of her siblings. Her death occurred before her literary reputation had fully solidified, but her works have endured and grown in significance.